Foolish Hearts
by Pandorama
Summary: The first thing Lisa had noticed about Greg was his voice. Followed in rapid succession by his genius and his gall.
1. Dear Doctor

**A/N: **I make absolutely no promises as to the frequency of updates. None whatsoever. Many thanks to holadios for helping with the transition from staring uncertainly at the document on my MacBook to clicking the "New Story" button. This is my first House chapter fic, though not my first fic in general, and, I'll put it out there that I like thorough reviews and really dislike text speak in reviews. Or life. So, yeah. That's all. Read and be merry.

* * *

**"Crimson"**

"I need a heart." The gravelly sound of his voice was closely followed by the sharp smack of his cane down the center of Cuddy's desk, narrowly missing her fingers.

She didn't bother to look up at him, simply slid his cane back off her desk and onto the carpet beside him. "After all these years, what makes you think you need one now?"

House guffawed loudly. "Oh, Cuddy, you little minx, you." He turned to address his team, who lingered by the doorway of the office. "See, what she was doing there was attempting to imply that _I _lack the ability to love. Which, _obviously_ –"

"House, I have a budget meeting in ten minutes. The wizard lives on the sixth floor. You can ask him for a brain and some courage while you're at it." She shooed him away with one hand, still not looking up from her work.

"Another one!" House slapped his good thigh dramatically. "See, _that_ time, she was alluding –"

"House!"

House turned to his team once more. "Go run some tests or something. I have important wheel-greasing to do, and I work better without an audience."

Cuddy snorted softly as House's team exited. "Give me a break, House. You thrive off of spectators."

"True." House clambered to his feet and began pacing – albeit awkwardly – the expanse of Cuddy's office. "But the children tend to get upset when Mommy and Daddy fight."

"Then we won't fight. I'll just say no and you can go away."

"No deal." House inspected the contents of Cuddy's bookshelf, squinting at the various leather-bound books and knickknacks. "Why do you have a nasty old copy of _Gray's_ in here?"

"First edition. It was a gift." Cuddy sighed. "What do you want, House?"

"I told you." House pulled a plastic anatomical doll from the shelf and opened the polished shell, spilling various plastic organs on the floor. "Whoops." He bent down and picked up a piece of crimson plastic in his thumb and forefinger. "I need one of these. Slightly larger, preferably."

The plastic heart bounced onto Cuddy's desk, landing directly in front of her. She sighed and studied the miniscule model. "So you said. What I'd really like to know, however, is _why_ you need one."

"Well, duh. Because the one my patient has currently doesn't work." House rolled his eyes.

"Thank you, I figured that much out myself. What I'm asking is what the underlying condition is that has caused your patient's heart to fail."

"Still working on that." House frowned as he attempted to fit the various organs back in the doll. "I think your doll is on 'roids."

Cuddy snatched the model out of House's hands and placed it back on the shelf. "We already have two patients awaiting heart transplants in the ICU and another three outpatients who are on the list. And that's just as of this month."

"Yeah, but my guy _really_ needs it."

"How long does he have without a transplant?"

House lowered himself into a chair, lazily taking in the view of Cuddy's backside over his shoulder as she swept the scattered organs into a pile. "Less than a day."

"And with the transplant, assuming it's even feasible?"

"Well, longer than a day, probably."

Cuddy sighed audibly. "What are the chances that this mystery disease will ruin a perfectly good heart as soon as it's transplanted?"

House narrowed his eyes. "Well, if we have a little more time to figure out what's killing him before he kicks it, we can probably avoid that scenario altogether."

"I'm sure UNOS will be thrilled to hear that."

"Come on, Cuddy. This guy is as good as worm food without a new heart."

"And so are my other patients waiting on hearts, except there's a significantly higher chance of them putting the heart to good use. For all we know, your patient is terminal with or without the transplant. There's no way the committee will approve this unless you can figure out what he has and how to treat it."

"But Mo_-om_ –"

"Go back and diagnose your patient, House. I'll schedule the committee to hear your case at five 'o clock. If you can come up with some answers by then – answers that actually warrant a transplant – I'll give you my support."

"He could be dead by then."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "In which case, he wouldn't make it to the OR anyway. Go deal with your patient."

House thumped his cane on the floor a few times. "Fine."

House didn't have answers at five. Or at six. Or at seven, when a seething Lisa Cuddy phoned the transplant committee to apologize again and cancel.

The click of her heels echoed off the tile and walls as she strode with a purpose towards House's office, jaw set, eyes flickering. The lights coming from the interior were apparent through the blinds. So he _was_ here, she surmised. She could practically feel the itch in her fingertips as a brief fantasy of strangling him came and went. "House!"

Foreman barely flinched at the shrill outburst, but Thirteen and Taub both jumped in their chairs at the sudden assault on silence. "Where is he? And why didn't a single damn one of you show up to the UNOS committee meeting?"

Thirteen shot a look of confusion across the table before responding. "He didn't call you?"

"Obviously not."

"The patient died earlier today." Foreman slid a case file across the table. "Coxsackie B3."

"So House just…left?" She really wanted to strangle him now.

"He said he had an appointment," Taub offered.

Cuddy frowned. "Why are you all still here?"

Foreman rolled his eyes. "Looking through all his undiagnosed cases for the past three years."

"For what?" She shook her head. "No, you know what, I don't want to know. Did he say where he was going?"

"No. But I think Wilson went with him." Thirteen didn't look up. "And he had his bowling ball with him."

"Of course he did." Cuddy could feel the beginnings of a migraine. "Unless what you're doing is actually productive and benefitting someone other than House, go home. And from now on, don't leave it to House to report anything to me. Do it yourselves."

* * *

It had taken three tries to find them, which was not bad, considering the sheer number of bowling alleys in the area. She ignored the protests of the counter attendant, shouting after her that high heels were stricktly forbidden, and made her way to the back where she could see House lounging in an orange plastic chair, swigging from a beer bottle.

"You _idiot_!" She cried. She could feel people stare, hear her sharp tone magnified as it bounced off the polished floors, but she was far too angry to care. It wasn't tonight, it wasn't this one thing, it was everything, and his sheer nonchalance at how his actions affected her. Twenty hears of this, and she'd been putting up with it because for some twisted reason she couldn't let go. "You selfish bastard! The committee waited _two hours_ for you! I called your cell phone, I called your team –"

"Hello to you, too." He smirked. "They were on assignment. No outside contact."

"You did this specifically to screw with me, didn't you, you arrogant sonofabitch? Do you get off on making my life more difficult than it needs to be? Is that what this is?"

She could see Wilson frozen, bowling ball in hand, staring at her, but she continued her tirade. "My hospital is not your plaything, House. It's not a video game, just for your entertainment, that you can put aside when you get bored. It is an institution of higher education and public service –"

"Did you know your breasts get flushed when you're angry?"

"House!"

"Yup. Just like that, keep yelling. It's pretty hot, to tell you the truth."

Her eyes narrowed. "No more, House. No more screwing around. I'm done."

"You're breaking up with me?" His face softened into something akin to disappointment.

"I'm giving you an ultimatum. I'm tired of this. I don't have the luxury of hanging around all night while you think up new ways to get to me anymore. I have a child. And you might be content to inconvenience _me_, but I'll be damned if she grows up thinking her mother cares more about her job than her daughter."

House snorted softly. "Don't kid yourself, Cuddy, you –"

"I am finally seeing the error of my ways. Two weeks, House. You have two weeks to shape up or you're gone."

"You won't fire me." He shifted in his seat, setting his beer down. "You _can't_."

"I can and I will." With that she turned to Wilson. "He listens to you occasionally. I suggest you convince him to take me seriously."

Her eyes returned to House, contemplating whether she'd gotten out all of what she'd needed to say, almost pleased as he squirmed uncomfortably in the cheap seating. It was not like him, she thought, to stay quiet and squirm, but there he was, doing exactly that. She felt a small sense of triumph. Finally she'd succeeded at shutting him up. It had only taken her…what…twenty years?

"House," she began, preparing a final victory remark, but she was cut short by one word.

Four letters.

"_Lisa._"

The last time he'd called her that, she was nineteen, barefoot and naked save for an oversized tee-shirt of his, stalking across the moist grass in front of his apartment, the first and last walk of shame she would ever let herself experience. A shiver ran from her toes to the roots of her hair as she gaped at him in shock.

"I think," he intoned calmly, holding her stare, "that you should stop verbally abusing me and get your car."

"Excuse me?" She fumbled for words. "Why would I do that?"

His voice was low. "Because I'm having a heart attack."


	2. Heartbreaker

**A/N:** I really am sorry for how long this update took - I didn't intend that to be the case. In my defense, I wanted to be sure the medicine was accurate and thorough, which is a lofty goal when it comes to cardiac and emergency medicines. This is accurate to the best of my abilities, so if someone reading this is a cardiologist and I've made an error...keep it to yourself. I literally spent hours on the research and to find out it was for nothing could easily make me cry. And fear not - my research was **not** from Wacko-pedia.

Thank you so much to all the people who reviewed the first chapter - that's the most reviews I've ever gotten on a single chapter and it made the effort well worth it! I'll try to have the next update sooner this time around.

* * *

**"Breathe"**

"Ma'am, you can't –" A paramedic sputtered as he was pushed out of the way by a determined Cuddy.

"You can either get out of the ambulance or back up, but either way, I'm getting in." She was breathless from administering CPR while waiting for the ambulance. "Take him to Princeton-Plainsboro."

"Ma'am –"

"Princeton-Plainsboro!" Her voice overpowered his. "Wilson!" She caught her colleague's eye and softened slightly. "Call the team. Both teams, Cameron, Chase –"

"I'll be right behind you." Wilson gave her a curt nod before pulling out his cell phone, turning his back to them.

Cuddy's gaze returned to House, his lanky frame laid awkwardly on a gurney, his eyes shut. A faint smear of rose-colored lipstick from where her lips had been pressed to his ringed his mouth. She watched as the paramedics administered to him, barely registering the motion of the rig as it lurched forward at her direction. It occurred to her that in the span of a year, she'd been mouth-to-mouth with him three times, yet only once had they kissed.

"How's his BP?" She craned her neck to see the monitor.

A female paramedic whom she was certain she'd met before but couldn't name gave her a wary assessment. "Seventy over forty."

"Start dopamine."

"We can't administer – "

"Fine." Cuddy snatched the IV from the male paramedic. "I'll do it."

"Dr. Cuddy, we'll be at PPTH in less than –"

"Give me the damn dopamine!"

She could see the pair exchange looks of surrender as a saline bag was handed over. "Four hundred milligram solution."

She held her breath as the drug crept its way into House's veins, swimming its way toward his heart. How many times would she go through this with him, she wondered. House did not carry himself as the sort of man who she'd had to revive more times than she could count, and yet it seemed sometimes that she would never cease to worry each time he paused too long or breathed too quickly. For a man who manipulated the world around him with such ease, it was bewildering to Lisa Cuddy how it was that she kept finding herself here, holding her breath and wondering if he would wake up.

"One hundred over sixty."

She exhaled.

* * *

"IV and O2 are on board, I need him on a cardiac monitor, 12-lead ECG, and a portable chest X-ray." A path cleared as Cuddy walked, the paramedics wheeling a still-unconscious House behind her. Cameron scurried alongside her, wide-eyed but heeding her boss's instructions.

"What happened?"

"He said he was having an MI." Her words were heavily affected by her breathlessness. "Went into v-fib half a minute later."

"And now?" Cameron helped the paramedics as they transferred House to an E.R. gurney.

"His BP is stable after dopamine." Cuddy hesitated a moment as she grasped a pair of scissors, a little tug at her heart at the prospect of having to destroy House's favorite Stones shirt. His heart, she reminded herself. His life was more important than a silly shirt, even one he'd had since most of his fellows were in diapers. The sound of fabric submitting to metal was not a pleasant one, but she supposed if anyone had to do it, she ought to be the one. "Get him on the twelve lead and take a blood draw – cardiac markers, CBC, Chem-7, LFT, and lytes. "

"Dr. Cuddy, we can take it –"

Cuddy returned Cameron's sympathetic gaze with an even stare. "I'm not entirely out of practice, Dr. Cameron, and given that I have a certain awareness of House's medical history, I think I'll continue to take the lead on this case."

"Of course." Cameron busied herself with the ECG wires.

"How is he?" Wilson appeared, obviously winded.

"Stable for now." Cuddy thrust a series of vials at an intern. "Take these to the lab and tell them they have priority. Stand there until they've run them and then run them back down yourself." She turned to Wilson. "He had no warning signs?"

Wilson shook his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary. He was in pain, but it wasn't anything new. He took a couple of Vicodin."

"Great, so if his heart was already stressed, that could have pushed him over the edge."

"If he was having chest pain or heart palpitations, he never said a word." Wilson glanced at a nurse who was in the process of hooking House to a monitor. "He seemed normal. A little tired maybe, but I figured it was just House being…lazy House."

"His ECG is showing ST elevation." Cameron looked from Wilson to Cuddy. "Do you want to wait for blood work?"

Cuddy opened her mouth to answer and was cut off by the sound of the cardiac monitor. "He's in v-tach again. Someone get a crash cart, Cameron, how quickly can you intubate?"

"Not enough time, he's going into v-fib."

She could feel the shift inside, the fine-tuned crisis-response mechanism ingrained during her residency taking over. The fist that had formed earlier as she contemplated strangling him reformed, freshly manicured nails digging into her flesh. Of all the times she'd fantasized about hitting him square in the chest, this one had not crossed her mind. She raised her arm…and hesitated. She _hesitated_. Her mind screamed at her to move, and yet she found herself strangely incapable of performing the simple task. She stumbled slightly Wilson pushed her aside to deliver the precordial thump, Cuddy's eyes wide with complete confusion at what had just transpired.

Her attention refocused as Cameron repeated the prognosis. "Still v-fib."

"Get the defibrillator." Her voice returned, albeit wavering. Wilson caught her eye and opened his mouth as though to speak, but she cut him off. "Clear."

She could feel a fine sheen of sweat forming on the back of her neck and at her temples, and soon it would soak through the silk of her blouse to leave a very unbecoming damp spot. Her heels would start to ache, right up through her calves from her patent-leather pumps, and her toes would feel grimy from the day's perspiration. Her hair would curl more than she generally liked to allow, frizzing in the humidity that radiated from her skin. She would look an absolute fright and in no way presentable as a Dean of Medicine.

And she genuinely hoped House would be able to taunt her for it.

She hated how she'd come to expect his teasing. Some days she actually waited for him, guessing at what he'd choose to harp upon that particular day. Most of what he lobbed at her was harmless. Vexing, but harmless. She knew – had known since she'd sat next to him in that first seminar, fighting off giggles as he muttered snide remarks aimed at the professor – that it was his way of showing interest. Not sexual interest, exactly, but interest. And honestly, she liked having his interest, until he lobbed something that hurt.

And for some reason, he always seemed to know the words that would.

She lay awake some nights wondering, usually after he'd said or done something truly awful to her, why she didn't just cut him loose. But House had been right, earlier. She couldn't.

He just had that hold on her that she couldn't seem to shake.

She barely registered her surroundings or the task at hand as she shocked him a second time. Cameron's voice held an air of relief and a faint hint of triumph. "Normal sinus."

"Good. Nice work, Dr. Cameron." Cuddy managed to compose herself, brushing her hands against her skirt in a futile attempt to smooth the creased fabric.

"Thanks." Cuddy could see the uncertainty on the young woman's face. "I'll get a cardiac echo to confirm the MI."

"I'll do it," Wilson offered. "You should change your shoes, Lisa."

"Right." Cuddy glanced down to her heels. Definitely not Emergency Room appropriate, she noted. "I'll just run to my office."

She usually kept at least two changes of clothing in her office, and a pair of running shoes in case she decided to skip lunch in favor of a jog. Those tended to be the days when House was particularly bent on pissing her off, though a fair few potential donors had driven her to run. She kicked the shoes under her desk and sighed as her stockinged feet hit the carpet.

A memory flickered in her mind from a lifetime ago. Kicking off a pair of lime-green pumps and propping her bare feet on the rail, knocking a series of red plastic cups to the ground in the process. Someone had sat down next to her, and she'd not bothered to turn until she heard the voice.

"_Not enjoying the party?"_

_She turned to see him swigging from a beer. "Not really, no. I only went because a friend of mine dragged me along."_

"_Your friend sounds lame."_

_Lisa eyed him uncertainly. "I suppose you're all that and a bag of chips?"_

_He grinned. "A bag of chips, a bottle of Coke, and an ice cream sundae."_

"_Cocky, are you?" _

_He didn't answer, staring off across the small patch of brown grass that served as a lawn. "Want to get out of here?"_

_Lisa nearly tipped over in her precariously tilted seat. "And do what?"_

"_Dunno." Greg shrugged. "But those ridiculous shoes aren't coming with us."_

That had been why she'd walked home barefoot late that night. He'd been very insistent that her shoes were not welcome wherever he was, and so she'd abandoned them and followed him.

Twenty years later and she hadn't managed to stop.

Cuddy sighed and laced up her sneakers, pushing the memory from her mind. She hurried back to House's side and looked expectantly at Wilson. "Well?"

"There's considerable damage to the heart." Wilson shook his head. "It's going to be difficult to tell just how bad it is until we clear the blockage."

"Let's get him up to the Cath Lab."

"You don't want to consider TPA?" Cameron frowned.

"No. Despite my nagging, I seriously doubt he's kept the follow-up appointments after his head trauma last year, and I don't want to risk a bleed." She avoided Wilson's eye, knowing there would be a flash of guilt across his face. "Angioplasty is the safest option without knowing for sure."

She glanced to Wilson. "You called the team?"

"And Chase. I told them to wait for me in his office."

"You should go update them. And start pulling his medical records…including the ones I'm not supposed to know about." She shot him a meaningful look. "Ask them if they've noticed anything more unusual than…usual. And have his team do whatever it is he has them do when they snoop around."

"You want them to search his home because of a heart attack?" Wilson stared at her, looking incredulous.

"I want to know why he had a heart attack. I want to know where he's been and what he's taken in the past…I don't know, decade, because this is House. This is not just a heart attack."

"Lisa, people have MIs all the time."

"House is not people. House is a reckless, self-destructive ass who plays around with substances I wouldn't clean my floors with and I want to know _exactly_ what brought this on."

"It could just be a heart attack, Dr. Cuddy," Cameron offered.

Cuddy shook her head, jaw set firmly. "No. Trust me on this, please. I've known him long enough to know when something isn't right."

Wilson exchanged glances with Cameron, who shrugged. "Okay. I'll go tell them. Page us if anything changes."

Cuddy turned and for a moment nearly forgot – caught up once again in House's drama, she'd nearly forgotten. "Rachel." She let out a soft sigh. "I told the sitter I'd be home half an hour ago. I have to…" She trailed off, torn. She hated being torn, and it was always him doing the tearing. Between her child and a man who infuriated her. She'd made a promise, to herself and to her daughter, and in the moment when it mattered, she had nearly forgotten.

"Tell the sitter to bring her here." Wilson placed a hand on her shoulder. "We can set her up in your office, and I'll make sure someone is with her whenever you aren't."

She sighed gratefully. "Thanks."

"Sure." She could see an odd sort of look in Wilson's eyes. Something akin to pity.

And it made her skin crawl.


	3. Steel Wheels

**A/N:** I'm aware that I'm a terrible, terrible person for taking so long. Mea culpa! I'll try to do better next time, I really will.

* * *

**"Pontiac"**

Cuddy held a small hand in hers, her daughter's little fingers grasping at hers with a curiosity that delighted Cuddy most days. She'd waited for this, wanted this, for so long. Most nights she'd find herself on the verge of tears, holding a child who was so hungry for the world that she marveled at everything, her eyes bright and intense, and the warmth would distract Cuddy from whatever else had gone on that day.

Tonight she didn't feel warmth. She felt numbness, she felt anger, she felt fear, and she felt the ache of loneliness that had diminished since the arrival of the child. Nuzzling her nose against Rachel's soft head, she breathed in a mixture of talcum powder and baby soap, trying to block everything else out for a moment or two.

Instead she remembered the backseat of a car. House's car. It had been a red '83 LeBaron, and she'd been informed upon seeing it that its name was Ruby. She hadn't needed to ask why.

It hadn't been a sexual thing about the backseat – quite the opposite, in fact. The thing she remembered was that the back seat had been filled with neatly folded laundry.

"_Did it come with a washing machine in the back or something?" She giggled and peered inside at the stacks of shirts and pants and balled socks._

"_Quit asking questions and get in."_

"_No, seriously, what's with the laundry?" She crawled into the car and leaned over the seat, sniffing at the clothes. Talcum powder and soap. "It's clean."_

"_Excellent skills, Sherlock. My mom did my laundry when I was home and I didn't see a point in moving it just yet." He revved the engine loudly and grinned._

_Lisa pulled her feet up under her, cold from the chilly October air. "Where are we going?"_

_He made a noncommittal grunt, and she sighed loudly. He rolled his eyes at her. "God, you ask a lot of questions."_

"_Just tell me where we're going!"_

"_Pontiac."_

_She began laughing, but stopped abruptly as he careened out onto the road. "Seriously? We can't go to Pontiac, it's a school night!"_

"_Trust me, this will be a learning experience."_

_She crossed her arms, trying to look as though she wasn't the least bit interested. "What's in Pontiac, anyhow?"_

_A grin broke out over his face. "You'll see."_

He hadn't even had tickets, which he'd not bothered to tell her until they were already searching for a parking spot at the Silverdome. She'd reminded him that, at his insistence, she was without shoes, and after a stare-off, he'd leaned down and instructed her to climb on, carrying her piggyback until they reached the gate, where he set her down by a guard.

"_My girlfriend left her shoes inside. We need to get in."_

"_Right," the guard rolled his eyes. "She left 'em in Jagger's dressing room."_

"_Look at her, you think she's barefoot on purpose? She had a couple too many, all right? Can we just go get her shoes?"_

_The guard assessed Lisa's feet carefully. "Where are your tickets?"_

"_Partypants here was supposed to be holding onto them. Look, just let us in before she yaks on you, too."_

_Lisa caught the hint, leaning against him and moaning. "Are we hoooome yettt?"_

_The guard inched back a little and then shrugged. "What the hell. Concert's half over anyway."_

She'd never heard The Rolling Stones live before. She could understand the appeal of the music, though the appeal of Mick Jagger was entirely lost on her. But that was second to the really stunning thing – seeing his face as they played. Awe. Worship.

She'd wanted badly for him to look at her that way.

Cuddy sighed softly and placed a now-sleeping Rachel on a cushioned mat on the floor, tucking another loosely around her. A quiet tap at the door startled her slightly, and she straightened to see Thirteen in the doorway. "Wilson asked if I'd sit with her so you could get up to the Cath Lab."

Cuddy managed a smile. "Thanks. I just put her down, but she should sleep." She took her lab coat from its hook.

"Taub and Foreman are at House's apartment. Wilson decided if anyone was expendable, it was the plastic surgeon and the neurologist."

"Right." Cuddy nodded absently. "I'll make sure to check back in on her in half an hour or so. Thank you again for –"

"Don't worry about it." Thirteen offered a grim smile before settling herself on Cuddy's sofa with a large diagnostic manual.

"Well, thanks again." Cuddy gave one last look to where Rachel lay swaddled and slumbering before closing the door gently behind her.

The elevator ride seemed to drag endlessly. Her thumb prodded repeatedly at the lighted number pad, foot wiggling impatiently, her body well tuned to her needs. She hardly waited for the doors to open before slipping out, jogging toward the lab and through the door to find Cameron nervously hovering just outside the glassed-in area. "Should be almost finished." She didn't turn around, eyes glued to the glass. "They're doing an IVUS to assess the damage."

"Good," Cuddy murmured, barely paying attention to Cameron's words. Instead, her eyes remained glued to House, now conscious and lying still. "How long has he been awake?"

"He came to on the way up here."

"What did you tell him?"

Cameron sighed. "I didn't. He pretty much had it figured out."

"The trouble with having a diagnostician as a patient." Cuddy gazed at the stoic expression on his face, his eyes on the ceiling, his mouth turned in a frown. "Did he say anything else? What might have caused it?"

"No. He just said…" Cameron paused. "He said to make sure we left everything where it belonged."

Cuddy felt the familiar twinge of guilt in the pit of her stomach. "Of course he did."

"He asked for you." She looked slightly reluctant to admit that piece of information. "Well, sort of. He said…he'd like you to be there when the procedure was over."

"I'm fairly certain that wasn't the phrase he used."

Cameron's mouth twitched. "Well, not exactly."

"Something lewd and full of threats of lawsuits, I'd imagine?"

"Actually…that's pretty close." Cameron's smile grew, replacing the frown lines that had creased her forehead a moment ago. "He seemed to genuinely want you to be there, though."

"I'm sure he wants to blame me for doing this to him."

Cameron cast a sideways look at her boss. "Maybe not."

Cuddy sighed, never particularly amused by Cameron's hopeless romanticism. She was a realist, and in all reality, House was an ass. Even if he did genuinely want her there, he would never admit the slightest humanity. She had been struggling the past few years to come to terms with that, and while she might still harbor a degree of wishful thinking, she knew House would never admit to whatever it was that lingered between them. And she knew it was fruitless to wait for something that would never materialize.

She tried to read House's expression, his icy stare directed upward and his mouth unflinching. His thumb appeared to bend at an odd angle, and she squinted to see that he was fiddling with the edge of the sheet on which he lay. He was nervous, she realized. Which meant that he didn't know what had caused his heart attack, nor what his prognosis might be.


	4. Memory Motel

**A/N: **Holy update, Batman, it's here! A new chapter! I keep apologizing and insisting it won't take this long next time...and then ending up being a total liar. Sorry about that. So this time, I'll say I won't update for at least six months. That way, when I update sooner, everyone will be excited.

* * *

**"Undivided"**

_Fulminant myocarditis._ The words seemed empty. Devoid of association with the tangible man that was House. _House_ could not have simply, spontaneously, transformed from a crippled but competent curmudgeon to the victim of an acutely inflamed heart. She could almost laugh with the irony of it, of that morning's conversation, but how could she laugh at such impossibility? Cuddy shook her head, shaking a few curls loose from her ponytail, as if to dislodge the diagnosis from her conscious. "No," she heard herself saying. "No, there must be a mistake."

Even as the words fell from her lips, she knew they were nothing but a desperate attempt at refuting the truth. She'd hired the cardiologist herself. She'd seen his résumé, read his studies, observed his practicum. He was not one to offer a diagnosis without certainty. Least of all to the Dean of Medicine. "I'm sorry, Dr. Cuddy. The results of Dr. House's IVUS, the cardiac echo –"

"I know," she murmured. "I trust your diagnosis, it's just…it's a bit of a shock."

He nodded sympathetically. "Of course."

"Does he know?"

The cardiologist shook his head. "I think it's best if we wait until he's more lucid. The infarction weakened his heart significantly. He's been drifting in and out for the past hour." He paused. "Dr. Cuddy, the extent of the damage to Dr. House's heart is quite significant. There's virtually no possibility of recovery without a transplant. The damage from the MI, coupled with the inflamed myocardial wall –"

"He's in heart failure?" Cuddy felt as though all the blood had drained from her body, leaving her chilled and empty, her breath coming in short, stagnant bursts.

"Obviously, we're hoping that UNOS can find him a heart in time. In the meantime, we're going to medicate and monitor him, but I expect that he's going to need to be on bypass within the next twenty-four hours."

Cuddy nodded numbly, barely aware that next to her, tears were sliding from her colleague's eyes. Cameron placed a hand on her shoulder before exiting the room, presumably to share the news with Wilson and the team. Cuddy was certain that the same thought was pressing at the forefront of her mind, and would soon be on the minds of Wilson, Chase, Foreman, Taub, and Thirteen within moments. She swallowed the lump that swelled in her throat and thanked the cardiologist before turning on her heel and retreating to her office to take stock.

* * *

"I always thought it would be some reckless stunt, like jumping his motorcycle off the roof of the garage." Wilson sat heavily in one of the chairs opposite Cuddy's desk, a chair House had been sitting in barely hours before as he insulted his way to finding a new heart for someone who ended up dead. Cuddy wondered briefly, as she stroked Rachel's hair, if he'd meet the same fate.

Barring a miracle, it seemed likely.

"You know, don't you?" Her voice was soft.

Wilson didn't meet her eye. "Yes."

"The committee wouldn't even consider him. The lifestyle, the addiction –"

"We should call his mother. She should be here."

Cuddy didn't reply, instead letting the soft tickle of her daughter's own heart reverberate as her palm lay across the girl's chest as it rose and fell.

"Maybe…maybe there's another way. I mean, he'll never qualify for a standard procedure, but a trial, maybe? Even an artificial heart…I think they were doing something at Tufts…"

She rose, wordlessly, and rounded the desk to deposit her daughter in Wilson's arms. "I need to go see him."

Wilson nodded morosely, settling Rachel back in her car seat. "I guess I'll –"

Cuddy cut him off. "You know him better than anyone, James. I need you to find out why. If there's even the slightest possibility of…" She pursed her lips. "Just find out why."

* * *

From the window outside his room, Cuddy could make out the expression on his face – annoyance. He hated being coddled, she knew, and given his prognosis and status at the hospital, she knew the staff would use any excuse to see the fallen legend for themselves. Even if it meant being on the receiving end of an impressive death stare while fluffing the pillow of a dying legend.

She herself had earned that very stare on a number of occasions, though she suspected he watered it down when she was the one fussing over him. Try as he might, he couldn't quite fool her into thinking he didn't enjoy having her full attention, even if he had to put up with the circumstances.

Truth be told, she knew very well that he liked her undivided attention. He'd even so much as told her that, in his own twisted way.

She had bought him a present – the first one she'd ever bestowed upon him, and a bit of an ominous sign, really, for all the trouble that had gone into it. She'd watched his eyes fall in tandem with the waning chords as the Stones ceased their final number, and the sheer intimacy of having seen the honest-to-god ecstasy wash over him as they'd played fade sent a shiver up her spine. She wanted him to feel that level of joy again, to see it in his eyes, to feel the waves of rapturous heat coming off of his skin.

"_That was amazing," she said honestly._

_He grunted in response, the letdown of the final curtain dampening his demeanor._

_She felt her heart flitting in her chest as she rose up on bare tiptoes, sliding an arm around his next to leverage herself as she placed a calculated kiss at the corner of his lips. "Thanks for taking me."_

_His grimace faltered. "You make an able accomplice."_

They'd been on the way to the parking lot when a t-shirt vendor had caught her eye.

"_I'll meet you out there. I have to use the bathroom."_

He'd groaned but said nothing, and she wove her way through the crowd to where a line wound around a small vending cart. She had never really been a fan of using what her mother referred to as "feminine wiles" to her advantage, but there had been no question in her mind that House would most definitely leave her there if she took too long.

_She pushed her way to the front and leaned over, smiling sweetly at the black-clad guy whose grin was the sort that would generally cause her to cross to the other side of the street. "Can I get one of those shirts?" She pointed and wound a strand of hair around her finger._

"_Sure thing." He winked at her. "Extra small, right?"_

"_Oh…um, no, a large, actually." She gave him a guilty grin. "I like them roomy."_

_As she walked back to the car, she felt a certain disgust for herself and tried to rub the spot on her hand that had made contact with his off on her skirt. Still, she clutched her prize victoriously._

"_Took long enough." _

"_I had to make a stop." She unfolded the shirt and handed it to him. "I thought it would look good on you."_

"_You bought me a shirt?" He looked perplexed. "Why?"_

_She shrugged. "I thought it would make a nice memento."_

_He grinned and tossed the shirt over his shoulder. "Hot date_ and_ presents? Geez, this is _definitely_ going in my diary."_

Cuddy sighed at the recollection. It seemed a lifetime ago. He'd been so…carefree. He'd smiled more. The House she'd known back then had been just as much of an egotistical ass, but there had been a light about him that didn't shine through now. And she mourned that.

She pushed open the door to his room and gestured for the various nurses and technicians to leave before taking a seat next to his bed. His eyes focused up at her, brilliant, icy blue. "No one'll tell me." His voice was breathy and low.

Cuddy reached down, lacing her fingers with his, surprised that he allowed the action. She brought his hand up to grasp with her other one, enveloping it. "You…" She trailed off, debating her words. Her throat tightened and she could feel the hot swell of tears behind her cheekbones. "You're in heart failure, House." She could hear a labored exhale as he took this in. "Fulminant myocarditis, which cause the MI…there's just too much damage."

He stayed silent a few moments. "I'm not a candidate for transplant."

"I'm so sorry, House." Tears began trickling down her cheeks.

"I'm going to die." The expression on his face bore no hint of what he was really thinking.

"House –"

"Thanks for letting me know." He disentangled his hand from hers.

"House." She moved to sit on the side of his bed, making it impossible for him to avoid her gaze. "House, if I…if there were a way…" She bit her lip. "I need to know that you'd be willing to make some lifestyle changes. The Vicodin, drinking…I'd need your word."

Still, no emotion registered on his haggard face. "No committee would approve it. You're wasting your time."

"I'm not talking about a committee."

"You…" His eyes narrowed. "You're going to risk your job and your license to save my ass?"

"It wouldn't be the first time." A small smile flickered on her lips. "We still don't know the underlying cause of the myocarditis, and I can't have you running your team in this condition. But…" She nodded. "Yes, I'm willing to do that."

"Why?"

"Because I care about you, House."

He shook his head imperceptibly. "You _care_ about all your patients. You _cared_ about my guy this morning. You'd only risk your job…" He trailed off, wheezing heavily.

"You said it yourself. I can't walk away."

"Don't do this." His jaw set determinedly. "Don't be an idiot, Cuddy."

She stood up. "Do you have a death wish I wasn't aware of, besides the motorcycle?"

"I'm not worth ruining your life over."

"Well, lucky for both of us, I get to make that call. Besides, I'd hate for you to start being selfless at this moment in your life." She held his gaze evenly, crossing her arms defiantly, expressing far more confidence in her ludicrous plan than she felt.

"I just figure that if I'm going to die, you'd have to let me see the funbags for pity's sake." A smile twitched at his lips.

"Keep dreaming, House."


	5. Lies

**A/N:** My muse came crawling back to me, battered and talking nonsense about someone called Lucas. Not sure what that was about. We've put aside our differences for the time being and let's all hope it's placated tomorrow around, say, 8pm. And on its behalf, I'd like to say that if tomorrow's episode does not bear a striking resemblance to the fantasy I've constructed in my mind, I may well post a oneshot involving House, Lucas, and ill-tempered mutant sea bass.

Oh - and thanks to holadios for betaing. I owe you. Literally. I think we're down to $27.95 now.

* * *

**"First, Last"**

"I need you all to listen to me very carefully and consider your response before saying anything." She'd not felt so wholly unprepared to address a room since her first day as Dean, but Cuddy had long ago learned to mask the giveaways of nerves. Her voice held steady as she eyed each of House's fellows, past and present. "I am going to tell you, as well as UNOS, in about ten minutes, that House has been cleared by the transplant committee. I am going to assure them, and you, that he has been clean from Vicodin and alcohol for six months now, as per a contract he signed that is sitting on my desk. He has regularly been drug-tested, as will be documented per our contract." She breathed out slowly, through her nose, and in through her parted lips, a measured, yogic breath. "Any indication you or anyone else in this hospital has seen to suggest otherwise has been the result of Dr. House attempting to craft a false impression, designed to mask any outward appearance of change. I'm sure you are all aware that he enjoys a certain…reputation…and would not want to lead anyone to believe that he had deviated from it."

She tried to read the faces of her audience. Foreman, understandably, looked as nonplussed as ever; Cameron, the polar opposite, registered her shock plainly. The others traded looks of varying degrees of alarm and surprise. Only Wilson seemed to appreciate what she was saying in entirety. She could see his mouth open to speak and cut him off a moment before. "The _only_ thing I want to hear from each of you – and as I said, you have a few moments to contemplate _in silence_ – is if you understand what I have just said."

"Lisa, I think we should speak in private."

"Dr. Wilson, I understand that your relationship with House has been considerably less amicable since Amber's death, so I would not expect you to have picked up on this change in his behavior." She kept her eyes fixed on his, conveying both the urgency of the situation and her remorse at having to use Amber against him.

Wilson seemed to accept both, and made no further remarks. She gazed around at the others. "If anyone has any reservations about what I've just said, allow me to remind you that if your boss dies, it will have a somewhat negative effect on your job security."

"I understand." Cuddy had fully expected Cameron to be the first to offer a vote of compliance. Her attachment to House, even if the girlish crush phase had long passed, was so blatant that Cuddy couldn't help but pity Chase.

Which she had to assume had something to do with Chase's nod of agreement. "We've really had very little interaction with him since we left." His eyes darted to Cameron. "I haven't really taken the time to maintain a relationship." The careful diction of his statement settled Cuddy's reservations.

Cuddy dipped her head in thanks. Foreman, she knew, would be the wildcard. Not only was he especially resentful toward House, but he had proven a devotion to his own welfare above anyone else's over the years. Then again – he'd have to be stupid if he thought Cuddy would hand over the department to him if House died. No House, no department. It simply wasn't worth the trouble without him.

"Yes." Thirteen's face registered no emotion, but her voice lacked its usual conviction. She didn't elaborate, only turned to face the remaining fellows. Taub nodded his agreement, and turned as well to wait for Foreman's response.

Cuddy pleaded quietly to herself, running through all the possible ways to circumvent his possible refusal to play along. The sound of him clearing his throat may as well have been nails on a chalkboard. "I don't care what House does or doesn't do ruin his liver. So obviously…" He paused. "I try very hard to ignore any behavior that's not relevant to diagnosing a patient."

Cuddy sighed audibly, letting her eyes fall shut as she nodded her thanks. She once again glanced around the room at each of the faces – House's few allies. "Thank you." Her voice was low. "After I speak with UNOS, I expect they'll move him to the top of the list. With any luck, he'll be in surgery within twenty-four hours."

Wilson broke his silence. "Meaning we need a diagnosis in half that time."

* * *

Cuddy watched him through the slatted blinds of his room. He was asleep, once again, exhausted by the simple task of maintaining a pulse. She ran her fingers along the moulding on the windowsill. _What had he done to himself? _There were at least a dozen things she could think of that might have contributed, but why now? What had taxed his heart so significantly that it had come to this?

He'd always taken stupid risks, as though he were somehow invincible. That undoubtedly had played a role. Then again – if he had never walked the thin line he was so attracted to, she'd probably never have given him a second thought.

She once again found herself thinking back – remembering how wholly infatuated she'd been that night. He'd grabbed her elbow as she started down the stone path to her dormitory, pulling her back.

"_Where the hell do you think you're going?"_

_Lisa gave him a confused stare. "To my dorm?"_

"_It's three-thirty in the morning." He flashed a lascivious grin. "You're way past freshman curfew, Miss Partypants."_

_Lisa rolled her eyes. "I'm not all straight-and-narrow, you know. I _do_ know how to break in the window."_

_Greg's mouth dropped open as though she'd just revealed she was going commando. "That just turned me on. _Way_ on."_

"_As if you weren't already." Lisa smirked. "Just admit it. You don't want to see me go."_

"_Right after you admit you wanna be naked in my bed."_

"_I think you're confusing your fantasies with mine."_

To this day she couldn't remember how exactly they'd made it from banter to bed, but he'd always had a sly way about him. There was a distinct gap in her memory, there, but the next memory was of him peeling off her shirt and her shuddering at the touch of his hands on her bare skin.

He had been her first. High school had been devoted to getting into college, and her freshman year had been devoted to making Dean's List. Boys had been third or fourth on the list – behind schoolwork, extracurriculars, and somewhere on par with making sure she didn't come across as a total geek in her devotion to the former two. And then she'd met _him_ and all her mind could focus on from five to nine was those crystalline blue eyes and the rough rumble of his voice.

_He was kissing her. Teeth gnashing on hers, biting her lower lip – hungry, insatiable kisses, contrasting with the soft caress of his hands up the small of her back, over her hips, and then easing her onto his bed and running up her thighs. She inhaled sharply at the feel of his fingers sliding the elastic waistband of her leggings down and away…but instead of terrifying, which she'd always envisioned it would be, it was elating. Lisa felt like she was floating. She turned her head, interrupting his assault on her neck, and held his jaw firmly. Strong and angular and the short bristles of beard tickling the tips of her fingers. She brought his lips back to hers and kissed him again. She was quite certain that she would never like kissing anyone as much as she liked kissing Greg House._

"Dr. Cuddy." A voice broke through her reverie. She spun around to face her senior cardiologist. "I heard UNOS gave the go-ahead."

She nodded and tried to mask any inkling of uncertainty. "Yes. They've given him top priority."

He gave her a tentative glance. "I was concerned that he might not qualify."

"Dr. House and I have had an agreement for the past six months. I can only assume the Vicodin he took today had such a negative effect because he no longer had a tolerance." She pursed her lips and glanced back at the sedentary House. "He'd been complaining of severe pain, so I approved an exception."

"Ah." The doctor nodded. Whether he was just going along or actually bought into it, she couldn't tell, and honestly, didn't care. "Well, I'm going to turn my patients over to Dr. Holden, but I'll be on call for whenever the heart becomes available. In the meantime, I expect that Dr. House will need to be on bypass within an hour." He placed a hand on Cuddy's shoulder. "I sincerely hope that Dr. House makes a full recovery."

Cuddy forced a small smile, as though oblivious to the omission of any confidence in the doctor's statement. "So do I. Thank you again. I know you've stayed well past your shift."

She watched him go and then turned back to House. She'd have to wake him up soon, though she dreaded it.

But first she'd have to consider what exactly she wanted the last words she might ever say to him to be.


	6. Jigsaw Puzzle

**A/N:** I suck. Hardcore. And the muse is a fickle little brat. Here one minute, gone the next. I think it's been sleeping around on me. Given the finale, though, maybe it was cheating with David Shore? If so, I forgive it. Er. Updates sooner next time? Maybe? Don't throw things.

Essy - as promised. Now you owe me a thorough review. Or else I'll kill Cameron in the next chapter. By means of ill-tempered mutant sea bass.

* * *

**"Mexico"**

She lingered by the doorway of his office, watching through the plate glass as his fellows, past and present, seemed to flounder without him, Foreman visibly flustered by the task of leading the differential in such circumstances. The whiteboard was divided into three columns – "yes," "no," and the curving question mark dividing the two. She slipped through the door and settled herself next to Wilson before considering the puzzle laid out before them all.

"You can move 'cocaine' to the 'no' list."

The attention of the table turned to her. "We have to consider –"

"I can promise you that House has not developed a secret addiction to cocaine." Ordinarily she'd have been far more perturbed by the fact that her diagnostics department couldn't rule out the possibility that they'd all failed to pick up on their boss's cocaine use. Today, she couldn't find it in herself to care. "What did you find at his home?"

"Um…a bag of your personal items." Thirteen's gaze didn't waver as she extended a small, opaque plastic bag. The rattle of the contents registered as Cuddy took the bag, nodding.

"Surprisingly, not much else." Taub cleared his throat. "Aside from the impressive collection of recordings of 'Antiques Roadshow' and porn, it was basically a couple of molding sandwiches, some weird herbal…supplements…some old film…nothing that stood out."

"Check it again. Anything that you can't vouch for. If you find cigarettes, assume he rolled them himself. If you find cheese without a label, assume he got it from a questionable roadside stand. If you find mold between the keys of his piano, assume he was doing some insane experiment." She glanced to his office door, moonlight casting ominous shadows over his desk. "Same with his office. There's a safe in there. He wrote the combination on the underside of his desk. The key to the padlock on his fridge is under the magnifying glass, and his computer password is…" She hesitated. _Partypants. _"I'll type it in myself."

_He was twirling them around by the lace edge, a lopsided smirk adorning his lips. She grabbed for them._

"_Oh, no. These are _mine_ now."_

_She gave up, shaking her head and settling against his side, the moist heat of his skin subduing the goose bumps on hers. "Fine. So long as you know," she snaked a hand under the covers and grazed her nails across his buttock, "that your _ass_ is _mine_."_

"They're going to put him on bypass soon. If you want to see him…" Cuddy swallowed. "Do it now."

* * *

She leaned against the wall across from his room, watching as each of his protégés made their tentative effort at a precautionary farewell. Foreman, stoic as ever; Thirteen struggling with optimism; Chase laying a hand on his shoulder with surprising compassion; Taub deflecting with humor; and Cameron, failing miserably at holding back tears as she bent down to kiss his cheek. Cuddy fought back a smile as she watched House's hand drift slowly around her to lie on her backside, Cameron laughing through her tears and Chase visibly perturbed. House lifted his eyes to Chase; Cuddy caught the offer to cop a feel of him as well.

Wilson sighed, leaning on the wall beside her. "How did you know where his keys –"

"He's not the only one with a keen sense of observation. I just prefer not to use it against him."

She was grateful that Wilson didn't press. "You're risking your career, you know."

"It's the right thing to do."

"No, it's not. And you know it. You wouldn't do this for anyone else."

Cuddy let her breath out slowly, her silence acknowledging Wilson's truth. "I don't think I could forgive myself if I didn't."

They both remained quiet a few minutes before Wilson spoke again. "Can you forgive yourself if he dies and you never said it to him?"

"Said what?" She knew it was a pointless deflection, but the desire to suppress the knowledge in her own psyche was as strong as the one to deny it in the open.

"He loves you, too. Maybe he doesn't know it, but it's there. After the ordeal with Joy…he struggled. He's an idiot and he sabotaged you both, but he wanted it."

Cuddy shook her head. "I gave him plenty of openings."

"Like I said, sabotage. House is afraid of being happy. And he's afraid of intimacy. But…you two have had this thing going on for half your lives. Neither of you would put up with the other for so long if there wasn't something there."

* * *

Cuddy shifted her weight from one foot to the other, a glance to the clock indicating that it was approaching an ungodly hour. His fellows had returned to their work, Wilson now scouring House's apartment with Taub, his familiarity with his friend an advantage over the last search party. And House was drifting ever closer to the threshold when she knew there would be no choice but to put him on bypass. His heart – a puzzle if she ever knew one – was as much use to him as his thigh.

She let herself contemplate the inevitable question – was there any truth to association between hearts and love? She knew better, certainly; had dissected more than a few in medical school, had shocked some back to beating; had even held one has it ceased to beat. She closed her eyes and let herself dream a moment; imagining an alternate universe in which House woke up with a fresh heart and the sudden, stunning ability to love. It was hard to tell, sometimes: he seemed to love Wilson; he loved music, she knew; loved the way his fingers felt on the keys of a piano - he'd told her that in one of the rare moments of truth they'd shared, and she had felt an overwhelming need to simultaneously cry and kiss him and quite possibly crawl inside him completely if she could find a way.

But it bordered on dependency, as well. Self-preservation. Wilson was the only person in his life he'd ever been able to count on. As much as she might try, Cuddy knew she could never fill that role. Whether he blamed her or not, she'd been the one who had told Stacy about the middle ground. Taken his thigh.

Cuddy found herself outside his room looking in for the hundredth time. Almost a metaphor for their coexistence, she noted ruefully. Fingers brushing the handle, she hesitated, only to turn around at the sound of shoes echoing on the tile. Chase came to an abrupt stop in front of her, huffing slightly. "Chagas."

"What?"

"Chagas. We can't be sure, but it looks like – "

"He's never been southwest of New Orleans." Wilson's second bachelor weekend; she had to admit that in retrospect that a drunken carouse through Bourbon Street at the height of Mardi Gras should have been a sign of things to come.

Chase thrust a folded piece of paper at her. "We found it in his office. It's a map of Mexico."

Cuddy could only stare at the item in his hands, lips parting ever so slightly.

_His hands rested under each scapular bone, her stomach and breasts pressed against his warm skin, head tucked under his. Not quite cuddling, but something close. "I was thinking."_

"_Never a good sign for women to think." Greg shifted under her, and she inhaled in surprise as he rubbed against her, albeit inadvertently. The sensation of bare skin was a whole new experience._

"_I was thinking," she ignored the jibe, "that I really don't want to go home for winter break. I mean, it's not like we've got Christmas plans."_

"_Besides the movies and chow-mein, right?"_

_She poked him in the ribs. "You're such an ass."_

_He stayed silent a few beats, his fingers pressing against her spine as though each vertebra was a piano key. She wondered which tune it was. Maybe a sonata? More likely something with a lewd overtone." I hear migrating's a big thing."_

"_For birds, maybe."_

"_Lower forty-eight: cold. Cancun: warm. Lots of tequila and babes in bikinis. Plus, I gotta finish coloring in my 'where in the world has Gregory House been arrested' map."_

_Was he asking her…? She pressed her luck. "I could use a tan."_

"_I could use an excuse to rub oil on you. And come to think of it, maybe try for a charge of indecent exposure."_

"_We _just_ had sex and you're already back in pervert mode?"_

"_I'm in my sexual prime."_

"_So…let's do it."_

"_Awesome. A woman in command. Me like."_

"_I meant Mexico." She poked him again. "I mean…why not, right?"_

_He shifted again, his hands in a southern migratory pattern themselves. "We could road trip. I can drive; you can…come up with ways of keeping me alert."_

_She giggled despite herself, girly and high. "You plan the route."_

"_And you?"_

"_I'll be in charge of swimwear."_

She exhaled and turned to Chase. "Run his blood, but I doubt it's Chagas. In the meantime…" She reviled herself internally for what she was about to say. "Call his mother. Find out the name of his biological father. And then pull his records."


	7. I Don't Know Why

**A/N:** See? I really did update sooner this time. And plan to do so again, now that I'm done with my B.A. I iz gradumicated, I iz.

Many thanks to holadios for betaing. Everyone should go to her profile and check out her fic "Bottoms Up," and if you're so inclined and haven't already done so, feel free to read my corresponding oneshot, "Peculiar Bedfellows." We're both positively starved for reviews. Speaking of - if you're going to favorite/alert one of my fics, please, for the love of snakes on a cane, leave a review. More reviews equals me not being bitter, which in turn reduces the chances of me writing mean things in my fics. Alright, you caught me: there's no correlation. But it still provides fleeting happiness.

* * *

**"Why"**

"House?" she asked softly. There was no response, not that she'd expected him to be awake. But startling him was certainly something she'd have liked to avoid.

As she sat in the chair next to him, she studied him in much the same manner she'd done a year ago, waiting and praying that the damage he'd suffered in the accident and its aftermath wouldn't be permanent. He didn't need any more pain. She'd thought she'd understood Wilson's motivations for pushing House, or at least, recognized them. It hadn't been about anger, or about him not valuing House; it had been blind desperation. And at the most basic level, Cuddy recognized that she was doing the same thing now. Wilson had been right, in saying that she wouldn't have risked so much for anyone else. Well, for anyone but Rachel. Realization crept over her: she loved him. The acknowledgement was unavoidable, as she sat and watched him. Risking her career for her daughter was a given, but the immediacy with which the decision to do so for House had come to her was, she knew, a tell.

It would be so much easier not to. She could kick herself for being in this position, going against all better instinct and reason that the academic, ambitious Lisa, the woman who had broken a male patriarchy at an unreasonably young age, posessed. And it was the same story, repeating itself. She'd graduated second in her class by a hundredth of a grade point, because she had failed one test, one time, in her entire academic career.

Because of _him_, that asshole. She wanted to shake herself. She was risking everything for the king of assholes, the prick of all pricks.

_She slunk from his bed, fumbling in the darkness for something to cover up with. Her hands found folded cotton: the tee shirt she'd bought him. She pulled it on and eased open his door._

_A slovenly guy she vaguely recognized as Greg's roommate looked up from where he was slouched over an epically large bong, a panicked expression fading to scrutiny. "Whoa. You're that chick from House's endocrinology class, right? Leah?"_

"_Lisa." She cleared her throat and tugged at the hem of the shirt, trying to pull it down as much as possible. "Can you tell me where the bathroom is?"_

_He pointed toward a door that, unfortunately, would require Lisa to walk by him to access._

"_Aren't you an undergrad? Like a freshman, or something?"_

_She crossed her arms, but uncrossed them as the action caused her – _his_ – shirt to ride up slightly._

"_Statutory. Nice." _Clearly he was stoned out of his gourd_, Lisa thought. "Wanna hit?"_

"_I'm all set, thanks."_

"_More for me." The roommate lowered his face to the opening, smoke already leaking out. He pulled back and cocked a grin at her. "You really slept with him? I figured you'd be blue-balling him for swapping your tests."_

"_Excuse me?"_

"_He swapped your tests. Some exam…something about the pit gland or whatever."_

_Her mouth dropped open. Wednesday's exam on the pituitary gland? He had to be joking. "He must have meant someone else."_

"_You're the chick who sits next to him, right? You fit the bill – brunette, petite, undergrad. He definitely meant you."_

_She found herself flushing with a mix of anger and sheer mortification. He'd cheated off of her and then slept with her? She could feel tears collecting in her eyes. She turned without saying a word and ran._

_The next time she saw him, he was in a hospital bed._

And still, she sat looking at his lips and wanting to kiss them.

_God_, he was an ass.

"I'm dying, and you're insulting me?" The labored question startled her.

"I – did I say that out loud?" Cuddy clamped a hand over her mouth, mortified.

"Yeah. Unless my telepathy finally kicked in."

She dragged her fingers away from her face, revealing the slightest smile. "Making up for any lost opportunities to have said it."

"Gotcha."

"They're going to put you on bypass soon. Your heart…" She trailed off.

"Never did make it up to see the wizard."

She steadied her breathing, aware that she was on the verge of dissolving into the same soppy puddle as Cameron had done not long ago. "I'll see what I can talk him into."

"I'm sure a couple of sexual favors will do the trick."

She chuckled despite herself. "House."

"Cuddy." Even the shallow, breathy utterance held an air of petulance. His eyes fixed on hers. She felt something inside of her tighten. "I want to ask you something."

"Okay." She felt her pulse quicken.

"Lisa." He shifted his hand, brushing hers. "If I don't make it…I want the last thing I see in this world to be you."

She drew in a breath, her lips parting.

"More specifically, your breasts."

"House," she groaned. "You are _such_ an ass."

"You're not going to respect my final wishes?"

"First of all, no, because, once again, you're an ass. And second, because that would give you absolutely no motivation to live. Your goal in life will have been accomplished."

"So…you're saying in the _future…_there's a chance I will get to see them? Again, I mean. Although they have gotten a lot bigger since the last time."

She pursed her lips. "I'm not dignifying that with a response."

"You're not dignifying it because you don't want to close that door. Despite your statements to the contrary, you _want_ to show me your breasts."

"Yes, that's exactly it." She hated the fact that he was not entirely wrong.

"Cuddy." His expression returned to its normal state: brooding, skeptical, and the slightest trace of sad. "You're being a colossal idiot. More than usual."

"Why?" She shook her head, almost imperceptibly. "Because I'm breaking the rules to save someone's life? That's the pot calling the kettle black."

"I break the rules and you cover my ass. Nobody's covering your ass, not even to cop a feel."

"I know."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"Because I'm a colossal idiot." She shrugged. "I can't _not_ do it."

"Why? You think saving my life is somehow going to assuage you of the guilt for mangling my leg? Good news: I forgive you. Even I've moved on. Hop on the bandwagon."

"I don't think anything. I'm not doing it to validate anything, or because I feel guilty. I'm doing it because I don't want you to die, House."

"Bullshit. You're not throwing away your career because you can't bear to see me die; we both know I torture you at every opportunity. I go out of my way to make you miserable."

"And somehow, I find a way to look past that." She held her breath for a fraction of a second. "I don't want you to die because, despite your being an incomprehensibly gigantic jerk, I value your presence in my life."

"You _value_ my _presence_?" he mocked.

The steady beeping of his heart monitor climbed. She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down."

"Right after you cut the crap."

She closed her eyes, weighing her words. The phrasing mattered, she instructed herself. Don't get him more riled up, don't open yourself to vulnerability.

For one of a countless number of times, Lisa Cuddy felt herself lose any presence of mind in front of Gregory House.

"I'm doing it because I love you."


	8. Love In Vain

**A/N:** Um. I changed the chapter titles because I'm a perfectionist and they seemed incongruous. So now, chapter titles are all Rolling Stones songs. The content doesn't necessarily relate to the lyrics, just the song titles.

Thanks, as usual, to holadios. I CAN HAZ CANON AND HUDDYSECKS! IN YOUR FAYSE! And just to make up for my week of obscene gloating, I gave Cam some good lines, I think.

Reviews are like loose change in my open guitar case of words. Jeez, just review if you've ever been a student subjected to the evil that is Sodexho and suffered four to six years of stomachaches, anemia, and dehydration at their hands. Or, if you like Cheez-Its.

* * *

**"Love in Vain"**

"You're an even bigger idiot than I thought."

"I know." Her head was cast down, eyes on her fingers, which toyed with the hem of her shirt. "I can't help it."

"I don't get it. I've done nothing but torment you for twenty years. And you're in love with me?"

She stood, still unable to look directly at him, her voice low. "Trust me, I've gone over all the reasons not to about a thousand times."

"So, what? What do you think happens now? I leap out of bed, my heart suddenly mended by the force of your proclamation, and tell you I've loved you since the moment I saw you and want you to have my babies?"

"I don't think anything. I don't _expect_ anything." She faced him, suddenly feeling a sense of peace with the feeling that had been plaguing her since she was nineteen years old. "I don't even know why I told you, except that I am at my wit's end, trying to dissuade myself of what seems to be inevitable. I don't need you to say it back to me, I don't even know if you're capable of feeling it at this point, let alone telling anyone. I think it's possible that you are, maybe not for me, but for Wilson, at least."

"Right, this is where I admit that I've been gay all along."

"House," she sighed, finally returning to sit beside him, "I should, by all accounts and reason, hate you. And I've tried. God, I tried to hate you for telling me it was a good thing I'd failed at being a mother, and I still couldn't manage to." She saw a flicker of guilt pass over his countenance. "If you want to pretend I never said it, that's fine. I'll shut up, and you can make another comment about my breasts. I'm going to put my ass on the line for you, whether you declare your undying love for me or tell me you hate me and hope I burn in hell. I am now at peace with the fact that I've said it. I'm Zen. But you asked, and you wheedled, and there's the answer. I love you. I've loved you since you took my virginity, despite the fact that you'd royally fucked me over a week before. And I admit to being a complete and utter moron for doing so."

He stared at her for what felt like an eternity, his eyes transfixed on hers. And then gazing downward, away from both of them. "I don't hate you."

"I know that," she murmured.

"And I'm sorry for screwing you over on that exam. It was a shitty thing to do, not that you shouldn't be flattered that I had enough faith in an undergrad to trust her answers over my, admittedly bullshit, ones."

"I'm flattered. Really."

"I've done a lot of shitty things to you. I'm sorry for saying you'd suck as a mother. I was detoxing and you were the closest target and I'm sure if I actually felt remorse, that would be on my list of things to feel it for. I'm sorry for about half the things I've said to you. I wouldn't have said most of the other ones if I didn't think you could take it."

"Thank you." It was a genuine statement; the fact that he actually respected her was not lost in the strange, muddled truth he'd disclosed.

"I don't love you."

She could feel her heart sliding lower in her chest. True, she didn't need him to reciprocate, but she'd held a flicker of hope that he would, at the very least, not negate it.

"I'm physically and psychologically incapable of loving anything. With the possible exception of your breasts."

She continued to gaze at him, feeling waves of confusion pouring over her as he spoke.

"It is vaguely, and certainly something of which I'm distinctly _not_ certain, possible that I like you."

The absolutely wretched quality of his declaration ought to have bothered her; instead, it imbued her with a feeling of elation out of place in the present circumstances. It was, for House, a statement of vast proportions. Cuddy found herself desperately wanting to touch him, and did so almost automatically, her thumb slipping into his creased palm. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. And I'm still not showing you my breasts."

"Why not?" he whined.

"You may take me to dinner once you've recovered, and if you are exceptionally good, I may consider allowing you to _lightly _caress my ass. With one hand."

"I'm now going to die from the overwhelming arousal you've just induced. Also, I _may_ take you to dinner? I haven't even confirmed that I like you."

"Do you want to touch my ass or not?"

"Yes, please, Mommy."

She stood again, smiling amid the heart monitor and leads and cannulae tubing. "I like Italian, and if you want to get anywhere in the realm of my backside, it had better be Zagat rated."

"I'm leaning toward not liking you after all."

She glanced at the heart monitor, and the dangerous numbers glaring green. She moved forward, the edge of the gurney cold against her midriff. The playful tone dissipated from her voice. "I need to let them put you on bypass, House."

"I know."

"I promise – "

"You can't promise anything, Cuddy."

"I _promise_ you that I will do absolutely everything in my power to find you a heart. I think Chase has the same blood type; I'm not all that opposed to killing him to save you."

"He won't be a good enough match. Foreman might be, though. Take his; he's more of an ass and his heart is nearly as stone cold as mine. It'll be a better fit."

"It might be considered a hate crime."

"Jesus, Cuddy, you're already going to jail for fucking with UNOS procedure. Might as well commit a little homicide if you're going down."

"I'm not going to jail for circumventing UNOS procedure. The worst they can do is take my license."

House's head fell to one side and back. "Have I mentioned what an enormous idiot you are? If they had award shows for biggest idiot in the universe –"

She cut him off. "It's my choice. Not yours."

"It's a bad one."

"It's really not." She swallowed thickly. "You live and probably diagnose a few dozen more patients this year alone that would have otherwise died.

His eyes moved to the monitor, seeing the same certain sign that she did. "Guess it is about that time."

"Despite your protestations, I _am_, in fact, a doctor."

"Then go figure out what the hell's wrong with me so that I can live out my new goal of caressing your ample booty. And of world domination."

"That one isn't new."

"Obviously."

"I'll go tell Holden."

"Lisa." She stopped. Three times in a day. Now_ she_ was going to have a heart attack. She turned to him, one hand on the door. "Thanks."

* * *

"He's on bypass." The attention of the room fell to her. "He's still deteriorating. How close are we to an answer?"

"As you can see…we're at the point of ruling out suspects." Foreman gestured to the table, cluttered with House's personal items. "We went back over his place with a fine-tooth comb. Same for his office, his car, and his bike."

"And my office," Wilson added. "Given how much time he spends there."

"And the cafeteria?"

"Nothing that would have induced this. Although…" Thirteen trailed off. "I don't know if _I_ want to eat down there anymore."

"I know. Our contract with Sodexho ends next month. We got a grant – you know what, it doesn't matter." Cuddy approached the table and assessed the take. "I'm guessing the box of Cheez-Its doesn't contain any crackers, does it?"

"No, those would be the remains of Steve McQueen," Wilson replied dryly. "Whose final wishes were, apparently, to be laid to rest in a box of his favorite treats and stored in the freezer next to the vodka."

"You're kidding me."

"You have to admit, it's a very tender gesture for House."

"It's disgusting." Cameron's face reflected her statement. "And completely irrelevant. House tested that rat for every disease imaginable." All eyes fell on her. She squirmed. "He…asked me to do it as a John Doe."

"You didn't."

"It's like Wilson said." Cameron shrugged. "He had a soft spot for it. I thought I should indulge him."

"Does that mean we can move the box of rat to the morgue – or better yet, the garbage – where it belongs?" Foreman raised his eyebrows.

Wilson rose to his feet and gingerly removed the box from the tabletop. "I'll take care of it. House would be devastated to know that Steve was treated with anything but the dignity that a frozen rat deserves."

Cuddy took his seat as he left with the boxed rodent, thoroughly unwilling to consider exactly what he planned to do with it. "What else do we have?"

"I left a message for his mother, and with the V.A. Still haven't heard back from either," Thirteen offered.

"I still think we ought to run a serum test for a brown recluse bite." Chase tapped his pen impatiently against the glass surface of the table.

"He has none of the classic symptoms." Cameron shook her head.

"It could be an atypical presentation. It's worth a shot. Do the serum test for brown recluse and for scorpion venom."

"We probably don't even have the time," Taub argued. "Not to mention that there are no scorpions anywhere near New Jersey."

"It's worth a shot. It's _House._ Assume the ridiculous."

Cuddy sifted through more of the clutter on the table. "Have you tested the paint samples yet?"

"The only one with even a trace of lead was the boiler room of his apartment building, and it wouldn't be enough unless he was licking the walls on a regular basis." Foreman frowned. "Which is too weird even for him."

"Did you rule out Chagas already?"

Chase cleared his throat. "You were right. I asked him, and he confirmed he'd never been south of the border. Test confirmed it."

A soft buzzing came from the end of the table, and Cameron fumbled with her beeper. "That's the lab. I'll be back."

Cuddy watched her leave, breaking into a run as soon as she'd closed the door. She glanced sympathetically back to Chase, whose eyes remained fixed on Cameron's vacant seat.

She knew the feeling.

She hadn't wanted to go to the endocrinology lecture the morning after the encounter. Exhaustion was second only to the fear of seeing him, but now the bastard had left her no choice – she couldn't miss any classes given the hit her average had taken at his hands. She lingered a few feet from the door at the water fountain, glancing from the corner of her eye, waiting for his inevitable and unwelcome presence. She'd finally had to give up and go in, choosing a spot on the opposite side from where she usually sat. From where _he_ usually sat, leaning over just enough so that she could feel his breath on her arm as he copied her notes.

"_Cuddy, Lisa." She raised a hand, avoiding Dr. Eagleburger's gaze. "Opting for a new locale, Miss Cuddy? Don't think it will keep me from calling on you."_

_She only slunk lower in her seat, fumbling in her bag for a pen. Her hand found folded paper, and she removed it to find a wrinkled piece of loose-leaf, an anatomically incorrect sketch of Eagleburger with an eagle's head and a Big Mac for a torso doodled in House's hand. Her fingers closed around the paper, balling it up and shoving it in the crevice between her seat and the one next to her. Her mind lingered on the night before, anger building and flushing her cheeks._

"_House, Gregory." The professor's voice broke through her thoughts. He tried again, his voice impatient. "Mr. House?"_

_No answer came. The seat that usually held his lanky frame was vacant, and would remain so through the semester. _

_The knot in her throat tightened and threatened to break. She clambered to her feet and bolted for the bathroom, hot tears spilling down her cheeks as she shoved open the door and slammed the stall door shut. _

_She hated herself for not being able to hate him._

The sound of glass hitting glass snapped Cuddy back to the present. Foreman had picked a brown bottle out of the trash and placed it on the table. "Has anyone here heard of Acadia Blue Brew?"

"Yeah, actually." Thirteen frowned. "I saw House drinking one the other day and asked. It's from a microbrewery in Maine."

"I saw him drinking it, too. This afternoon. And twice last week."

"House is drinking on the job?" Cuddy supposed she shouldn't be surprised. Alcohol was probably the least of his workplace vices. "Don't answer that."

"I found a couple of cases of them at his place, and there were some more bottles in his mini-fridge."

Taub leaned forward. "You're thinking toxin?"

"I don't know. But I do know I've never seen them in any store, and I've never seen anyone else drinking them. Where do you suppose he got them?"

"Special order." Cuddy stood up and strode toward House's desk. "He orders most of his groceries online. He's ordered other obscure food from the internet, too."

"Like what?"

"We found a whole bunch of Korean candy at his place. And specialty coffee. But there weren't any reports online of adverse reactions…" Chase's eyes widened. "We didn't check on the beer because it was manufactured in the U.S."

Cuddy pulled a bottle of the beer from House's minifridge and tossed it to Foreman. "Test for heavy metals. Chase and Thirteen can run a MedLine search. Taub, call the manufacterer." She sighed. "I need to call my nanny and have her pick up Rachel. And then I'm going to call the FDA."


	9. Ventilator Blues

**"Ventilator Blues"**

The first thing a woman notices is a man's eyes. Cuddy had heard it from her mother about seven hundred times, usually followed by a story about how she'd first noticed Cuddy's father's eyes. When her father was present, he had usually had some witty joke that her mother tried to pretend she was offended by and that made Lisa giggle.

The first thing Lisa had noticed about Greg was his voice. Followed in rapid succession by his genius and his gall. He'd interrupted her introductory biochem seminar by shouting out a contradiction to her professor's statement on radioactivity of Mendelevium, and then launched into an explanation of the isotopes thereof. It wasn't until she turned around to stare at the body belonging to the voice that Lisa had noticed his eyes, bright enough to illuminate the room, the exact color of cobaltous chloride dihydrate. She had the inexplicable urge to peel her clothes off and stand in front of him listing the periodic table of elements in reverse order by atomic weight and then slap him across the face for being so tactless. It was an irrational, idiotic thought, she'd known, but she couldn't seem to get the fantasy out of her head for weeks.

She'd fallen immediately in love with his eyes. The rest of him would be slower to follow.

"It's cobalt toxicity," Foreman repeated. "Are you smiling?"

"It's…never mind. It's ironic. It's an old thing." Cuddy dragged a hand down her face, fingertips perching pensively over her lips. She considered the information she'd been handed. There couldn't have been a high volume of cobalt in the product, she knew, or either the manufacturer or the FDA would have caught it. For enough cobalt ions to have reached a toxic level in House's system, he would have to have been drinking large quantities of the beer over an extended period of time.

How had she not noticed it?

She took great care to keep an eye on him, not only for professional reasons, but personal, as well. His well being was not altogether safe resting in his hands alone, and while Wilson was a good friend and a world-class worrywart, Cuddy knew that House deliberately hid things from his best friend by taking advantage of his blind spots. She'd always believed she knew House well enough to know where to look, to see the signs. Yet somehow, she'd missed this. He'd been drinking, and not just a little.

Which would mean –

Her train of thought was interrupted. "Quebec beer-drinkers' cardiomyopathy." Chase handed her a printout. "Had to go back to the seventies to find the case, but there it is."

Cuddy scanned the page absently, barely noticing the words. "Start him on the chelation therapy."

"Taub and Thirteen – Hadley – are already on it." Foreman cleared his throat, discomfort evident. "I, uh…we're all willing to turn a blind eye to the source of the cobalt."

Cuddy hesitated. She wasn't eager to ask them all to lie even more than they already had. She could falsify the records herself, that would keep them out of it, but when the truth came out – and she was almost certain it would, eventually – the thought of taking down five young physicians with her wasn't something she was sure she could reconcile.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned. She hadn't even noticed Cameron in the room. Her eyes were soft, thought her tone held reproach for Foreman's words. "We're more than _willing_. It's the right thing to do."

Cuddy found it incredibly awkward to be in a position among her employees that required her to ask for their silence, and one in which they seemed to regard her not as a superior or even an equal, but almost…almost like a friend. One to be cared for and soothed. She glanced from Cameron to Foreman and Chase, and she knew. They knew better than even she, herself, did: what she felt for him.

"Make sure to clean up after yourselves. I want it to be perfectly clear, should there be an investigation, that none of you were involved in this."

"Dr. Cuddy – "

"This is my decision. You'll have to respect it." She snapped back into boss mode. "Now that we know what the cause is, you should all go home and get some rest."

Chase and Foreman began hastily gathering their belongings. Foreman was out the door in a matter of minutes, but Chase stood hesitantly, casting a wary look at Cameron. "Are you coming?"

"I…I was going to stay in the ER to watch for potential donors."

Cuddy could read the emotion on Chase's face: much the same emotion she felt whenever House's eyes wandered to a backside other than her own. Mistrusting of the intentions, uncertain of the emotion within. "You should go. The ER is covered, and I'll be keeping watch."

Cameron hedged but nodded, and a few moments later, Cuddy stood alone in the office, watching the sunrise casting golden hues through the windows, glinting off the surface of the table.

She moved slowly to the Eames chair and allowed herself to fall into it heavily, automatically kicking her legs onto the ottoman. The leather smelled faintly of him: unwashed laundry, tobacco, antiseptic, and French fries. She frowned and leaned her head closer, sniffing for the final element. Aha. She smiled. There it was – the faintest hint of Polo. It was an unspoken thing between them: every year she'd buy a bottle of it for his birthday, and every year he'd pretend not to notice the sudden appearance of the bottle in his desk drawer. She counted it among her favorite of their silent games.

It had been something of a shock to find a purple paper bag on her desk on her own birthday, inside, a bottle of Yves Saint Laurent Parisienne. And it was not only the break in tradition – in all the years she'd known him, he'd never so much as acknowledged the day – but the fact that she'd worn Vera Wang for years now. And House, of all people, had the means to know that detail.

When Wilson had asked how she'd liked his gift, she'd felt sucker punched. Stupid, she'd told herself. How incredibly stupid. It had taken her almost the whole day to understand. Another one of his games.

"_You told Wilson I wore Yves Saint Laurent."_

_He twirled his cane. "I have no idea what you're talking about."_

"_I'm trying to decide if I'm annoyed or amused."_

"_Aroused would be my suggestion."_

"_Shut up." She chided herself for the smile creeping over her face. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"_

"_Nope."_

The bottle of Bouquet on her nightstand had been nearly empty that morning. That night, it was full.

The man was a mystery she would never quite solve.

"Lisa." A voice broke her reverie, one she recognized as Wilson's. She gave him a wan smile. "When's the last time you slept?"

"I'm fine."

"You should take a nap." He pulled a chair from the table and turned it to face her. "There's nothing you can do right now."

"Thirty-six hours is nothing. I went for days when Rachel had colic."

"Still. It's not helping him for you to stay up. You can take a rest in your office, I'll wake you if there's anything new."

She shook her head. "Really, I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine."

"I never thought I'd say this, but I think there is actually someone as stubborn as House."

"One of the many reasons a relationship would end with one of us killing the other."

"You'd be surprised." He stood up from his chair and extended a hand, pulling her up. "My marriages were all conflict-free, right up until the divorces."

Cuddy sighed. "It's too complicated to think about right now. It's not going to matter unless we can find him a heart in time."

Wilson nodded his agreement and they lingered in silence for a few more moments. "Come on. If you're going to stay awake worrying about him, you'll need a coffee."


End file.
